In The Mists Of Night
by A Lonely Planet
Summary: Quin has recently moved into a new home and since she's been seeing things. Specifically someone. And it's scaring her more than she could possibly believe. Possible Fabary.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, it belongs to it's respected owners.**

**A/N: This is just a story I thought up. Reviews are always appreciated not matter how brief. **

**It's Too Dark**

**Prologue:**

Loneliness was the first feeling I had felt. It made me feel as though I were drowning, and I couldn't come up. Closing my eyes I tried to sleep. I turned, in my bed but there was no comfort in this room. It was as though everything was closing in on me. There was a heaviness that surrounded me and soon I felt my eyelids droop, but I wasn't tired. At least that's what I had thought.

It was in this half awakened state that was when I heard the door open. I looked up but there was no one there. Just me in a new bed, in a strange room, an old room. I shivered, there were goose bumps all over my body but I was under so many thick blankets. I felt a chill run through me. I wanted to cry, it was so cold and I couldn't get warm.

I got up and wrapping a blanket around me. It was so unnaturally silent that it as as though every sound had somehow been sapped from the air. I quickly closed the door with a click and locket it.

As I made my way to my bed the door handle started to rattle. I jumped. Running to my bed I quickly tossed the covers to the side bringing them over me to hide under them. The air felt colder than ever. The handle's shaking soon became violent.

I shouted with panic thick in my voice. "Go away! Please just go."

With that the doorknob suddenly stilled.

It was then that I noticed the silence was interrupted and the grandfathers clock had began to tick. When I had come to this house, it had been broken. Looking up I saw the pendulum swing gently from side to side, as though it had always been that way.

A young girl walked through the door, she looked at me with a frown. She looked about my age, but her eyes. They had seen so much more, as though they were ageless. She wore a white dress, but in such an old fashion. I wasn't sure from when, but the dress seemed to come from been over a century ago. She had beautiful chocolate brown hair that softly framed her face and such piercing blue eyes. When she looked at me they went right through me.

She was so pale though, as though she were painted in watercolours and to my horror, I could see right through her.

"Do you know what happened to my brother?" she asked me softly, "I need to see him. He left for the war. I don't know what happened to him. It was so long ago, but I need to know. Is he alive? When did he die? Please tell! I'll do anything! Please!"

This girl, this young woman was desperate. There were lines on her face that shouldn't exist on a face so young. She looked afraid, with a fear that I couldn't understand. The room suddenly became colder.

"Please," the girl whispered desperately, "you must tell me! I'll do anything. I swear it. I will. You just have to tell me."

It was then I felt this dread that wasn't my own. As if this girl was instilling me with this terrible fear and hopelessness.

I began to cry. "I don't know. I'm so sorry, I don't! Please go, just go!"

The girl simply stood there, unmoved with my fright, untouched by my tears. She just stared at me with this look of sheer helplessness. It was then I screamed and closed my eyes. I buried my face into my pillow. I heard footsteps and my door rattled once more.

"Quinn! Honey, let me in!"

I looked up, the girl was gone and the clock had stopped as if it had never begun, but it was still so cold. My skin felt like ice.

I moved forward grabbing the key off my bedside table. I stood to opened the door.

"Mum," I called out, I put my arms around her. "Mum I was so scared."

"Darling," she whispered gently to me, "it was just a bad dream. Calm down, I'm here."

She was wrong though. It wasn't just a dream. It was only the beginning of my living nightmare.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm still unsure about the pairings, or even if there will be any, I just want to warn anyone that this is a possible Fabary Fic, or at the very least a strong friendship between them. **

**Chapter 1:**

I was still shaken by the time I had reached school. My hands trembled as I turned to my locker, I had trouble turning the small lock to the right numbers. I felt a tap on my shoulder and I jumped.

Rachel frowned, "Quinn are you okay? You look, well for lack of a better phrase, white as a ghost."

Turning to Rachel, I sighed, "I wish you wouldn't say that blasted word."

"What?" The girl replied quickly. "Which one? White? Because I can assure you as a multicultural family I have no problem-"

I spoke before her rants could hurt my ears. "No ghost."

She blinked. "What? Surely you don't believe-"

Again I interrupted her, "No, well not until last night. Rachel, can you keep a secret. I'm not even kidding Rachel, if word gets out, I'll be humiliated. Okay?"

"Alright," Rachel whispered softly. "What is it?"

I bent her ear with my thumb and forefinger and whispered softly. "As you know I've moved into a home and it's haunted."

Rachel smiled broadly. "Really? I think the prospect of it is absolutely wonderful. The stuff good novels a written of, maybe I should write a musical."

I quickly replied. "Trust me, you do not want to be haunted. At least not by this bitch."

Rachel looked me in disbelief. "How do you know she's a bitch? Surely she has some sort of unfinished business, otherwise I'm sure she wouldn't still be there. In fact I doubt very much she wants you to be there as much as you don't want her."

I paused. "That actually isn't a bad idea. Last night she said something about her brother. She practically gave me a heart attack."

Rachel started to look as if she were about to twirl. "This is so exciting. Did she say anything else? Something of a clue?"

I thought back trying to recall. "Well, she had this really old dress, it had to have been a century old, you know like what the suffragettes wore. Except, well, she looked really beautiful, with this brown hair and these blue eyes. She also said something about a war."

Rachel's eyes widened, "Did she have an accent? I wonder, she could have been from World War One. Maybe she lost her brother in the war? Sounds possible."

I was about to reply when the bell rang. "We have to pick this up later. Meet me at the library at lunch."

Rachel nodded, "Yes, I love a good mystery."

**~xxx~**

For once I actually paid attention to modern history but nothing came up that could be useful so at the end of the lesson I came up to the teacher.

I tapped him on the shoulder, "Mr Johnson. I have a question, actually a few."

He turned, "Yes Quinn. What would you like to ask?"

"I...how familiar are you with World War One?" I asked seriously.

He took a seat on the desk. "Well quite a lot, it was a horrific war. There were parts of No Mans Land on the Western Front that couldn't walked on without stepping on a body. It was a terrible war. One that should never been as glorified as it was, I'm not sure specifically about America as I only transferred from England, but before the war they promoted it as an adventure, that you'd be back before Christmas. I can't tell you how wrong they were, it lasted for years. Some boys as young as thirteen left home just to go to this war, pretending to be older. Women would even gave white feathers to men they thought were cowards for not going."

I asked, "How would I find out about a past resident to my home? Specifically from around that time."

He laughed, "Sorry it's just I recently did the exact same thing for my own home. I just moved into a new one for obvious reasons and it always fascinates me to look at the history of a home a lie in. I think it adds character to a home. Well you just go to the library, ask to see the old residential records and anything before the nineteen-sixties is free for you to look at. You need special permission for any more recent, unless it's your own heritage, for security reasons."

I got up to leave. "Thank you. Sir you have no idea how helpful you've been."

He smiled. "Quinn, no problem. If you have any more questions, just ask me."

I nodded. "Yes Sir. Be sure I think I might."

**~xxx~**

In the library I spotted Rachel at one of the tables with several books.

I sat next to her. "I think you were right. I spoke to the history teacher and I was wondering if you were free this afternoon."

"Yes," Rachel replied quickly, "what did you have in mind?"

"Well, we need to go to the local library, I know how to be sure who this girl is and hopefully any information she wants to know about her brother."

Rachel smiled, "Well while you talked to the teacher I did some research of my own, on World War One and ghosts. Ghosts can be forced to move on with the right ritual performed but the requires someone like a priest, but according to all the sources I've read it's better to help them move on."

I bit my finger tip in thought. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea but how do we help her move on?"

Rachel picked up a book. "According to this one, talking to them."

I looked at the book in question. "Is it more specific."

"No," Rachel sighed, "I'm afraid that is all it said. There isn't much on helping them move on. Let's look at the records this afternoon and see what we can find. There's no need to be disappointed yet, we still have some leads. I think we should talk Mr Johnson again if we can't find out much more and see if we can find out information any other way."

I looked at her excited eyes and agreed. "I actually couldn't agree more. He's actually pretty cool, he actually talked to me like a person and not like a student."

**~xxx~**

I spent the rest of the day actually happy. I had someone to talk to about this woman. I even had some possible idea on how to get rid of her. Though I'm not sure what to do, at least now I didn't feel helpless. I'll never forget that feeling I felt last night and I never want to feel like that again. It was far too scary to begin to comprehend.

I walked into the library that afternoon and I saw Rachel busily looking through some books.

I walked up to her and sat beside her. "Hey Rachel I just wanted to say thank you for helping me. I can't say how much it means to me."

She smiled, "Quinn there's no need to thank me. Really I honestly find it so exciting thinking about all the possibilities. I got some other books but they weren't nearly as helpful as I thought they'd be. It's all the same. I'm starting to think the writers are just writing for the money and not at all for people who might actually be in need from a haunting."

I picked up a book and shrugged. "I think it's fine, at least we looked. It was worth a try. Come on lets look at the records."

Rachel smiled, "And the plot thickens."

I couldn't help but laugh, "Most definitely."

We walked up to the librarian and she directed us to a dark room crammed with all sorts of documents. We kept looking until I found a thin file at the back of a draw that was about my house. It simply had the dates nineteen-fourteen to nineteen-seventeen. Opening it there was only a few pieces of papers. There was a photograph of an old woman and a young girl, another photograph showed a young man in a soldiers uniform.

Rachel pointed to the girl, "Is that her? That must be her brother."

"Yeah that's her, but she's so much younger, at the house she looks maybe our age. According to this document she went missing at the age of eighteen and was never found. She was from England," I laughed, "sorry it's just that she's from the same place as my Mr Johnson. It doesn't really say much else, that woman according to this seems to have been her housekeeper. Her brother though, he died just after she went missing in the war."

Rachel put her hand on Quinn's back. "This is so sad, I couldn't even fathom not knowing what happened to one's family after that. I wonder what happened to her."

I looked down at the document, "Her name was...is Elisabeth Thompson."

At least I had a name to the face to this poor tragic girl.


End file.
